"Shh," he said, brushing a kiss to her lips. "It was amazing. You're amazing."

A gratified smile touched her lips. "I rather think the prize for being amazing should go to you. I didn't really know what I was doing."

"You knew enough," he said.

Her expression at the moment of climax would stay with him for a long time. What a thrill it had been to give her that. It made him want to crow.

It made him want answers to the questions that had been nagging him ever since she'd told him about her brother running after Rupert to get him to marry her.

He propped his head up on his hand. "Tell me about Rupert."

Her gaze dropped to his chin, but not before he glimpsed pain in it. "What do you want to know?"

Figuring he'd better start small, he said, "How did you meet?"

A relieved sigh wafted out of her. "He and his older brother were the sons of Papa's widowed brewery manager. When Rupert was fourteen and I was eleven, his father's heart gave out and he and his brother were orphaned, so Papa gave them work at the brewery. They often came to dinner at the house."

"So you saw him a great deal," Jarret asked.

She nodded. "I think I was around fourteen when I started to care for him in a different way. It took him longer. When I was fifteen, he started courting a milliner's a.s.sistant, and it made me furiously jealous, so one day I dumped a basket of fish on his head when I knew he was going to meet her. He chased me down, threatening to spank me." She smiled. "He ended up kissing me instead. And that was the end of his courtship of the milliner's a.s.sistant."

The sweet story of a village romance touched him more deeply than he liked. He could just see her at fifteen, fresh-faced and dewy-eyed, falling for a handsome lad a few years older than she. And for one shocking moment, he virulently hated the man who'd had her heart, no matter how briefly.

"When I was sixteen," she went on, "Rupert asked Papa for my hand. Papa let us become betrothed but said we had to wait to marry, since he felt I was too young. Then Rupert's brother died, and you know the rest."

"Not all of it. I gather that you sneaked out to meet him the night before he left for the war." He cupped her cheek. "But I don't understand why the two of you didn't marry after he'd deflowered you. You were already betrothed. Why not marry?"

"There wasn't time," she said in a halting whisper. "He was to leave the next day."

"Clearly, your brother thought there was time, since he ran after the man. Rupert could have obtained a special license that very night, and you could have had a hasty wedding in the morning before he left."

She shifted away to lie with her back to him. "It would have required parental approval."

"Surely your father would have been glad to give that, if he'd known Rupert had taken your innocence. I don't see-"

"He didn't want me, all right?"

Jarret gaped at her. "What do you mean?"

A heavy sigh shook her small frame. "It wasn't supposed to happen-the two of us making love. He'd come to the house for a farewell dinner that night, and we'd said our good-byes. Hugh had even allowed us a moment of privacy for a kiss."

Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "But I was brokenhearted. I couldn't stand the thought of his leaving. So I packed a small bag and sneaked out. I planned to join him, you see. I begged him to take me with him. I told him we could marry, and I could go to war with him as a camp follower. He wouldn't let me."

"Of course he wouldn't." Terror burst in Jarret's chest at the thought of her near a battlefield. "No man wants to see the woman he loves in that kind of danger."

She shifted her head to glare up at him. "I'm stronger than you think, you know. I could have done it-washed for him and cooked for him, like those other women."

"Those other women are seldom sixteen-year-old, gently bred daughters of rich brewers. They've either been raised in the regiments-officer's or soldier's daughters and sisters-or they're poor women who have no choice. It's a rough life, being a camp follower. I don't blame him for not wanting that for you. Besides, enlisted men are rarely allowed to take their wives. Very likely, he would have been denied permission to do so."

"But what if he hadn't? If I'd been there, he might not have died. Who knows how long he lay in the battlefield before they found him? I would have taken care of him, bound his wounds, watched over him-"

"And he probably would have died anyway, love." He stroked her hair, his heart hammering at the thought of her blaming herself for her fiance's death. "Five thousand men lost their lives at Vittoria. It was a brutal battle. He was right not to take you."

Her pretty eyes were dark with grief. "But he should have married me before he left. That's what you think, isn't it?"

Jarret regretted raising the subject at all. He'd figured there was a story behind it, but he'd a.s.sumed that it had something to do with her father or her own insecurities. Like a brainless fool, he hadn't considered that Rupert might just have been a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"I'm sure he wanted to," he said gently.

"I'm not. Afterwards, he said not a word about marrying right away. He promised he'd return soon. That once the war was over, I would be old enough to wed and we would have a big church ceremony." She met his gaze with her tear-filled one. "He said he loved me. He promised we would be together. Then he ran off to fight without a care in the world. Because he didn't want me."

"I doubt that very much." Jarret suddenly found himself in the peculiar position of having to make excuses for her confounded fiance. "But men react differently to the threat of war. He might have worried he couldn't support you on a soldier's salary. He might have been so sure he'd be coming back that he didn't consider marrying right away. Or maybe he thought you'd be better off being free to marry if he were wounded or-"

"Killed? Then I would have been a respectable widow. I could have married whom I wished, instead of having to hide ..." She bent her head to shield her tears from his gaze.

He brushed the hair from her damp cheeks. "I was going to say, if he were permanently injured. Men sometimes return from war with scars that can't be healed-their brains damaged or their limbs gone. Perhaps he didn't want to risk you suffering that."

She gulped in air. "That's kind of you to say. But we both know that it's far more likely he just didn't ... want to be burdened with a wife as he set out on his exciting adventure."

"If that's the case, then he was a fool. A complete and utter fool. Any man would be glad to have you waiting for him at home."

"Not any man," she said quietly.

He froze. She was right. He had no business saying such a thing when he would not want her waiting for him. Would he?

Before he could even think of an answer, she said with forced lightness, "Anyway, it was a long time ago. Whatever his reasons, it's in the past. I acted foolishly, and now this is my life." She managed a smile. "It's not a bad life. I have nieces and nephews to love, and I can come to the brewery whenever I please."

"Annabel-" he began, feeling the need to say something, anything to make her realize her worth.

She touched a finger to his lips. "Let's just enjoy this while we can." She cuddled up against him. "Besides, there's one thing I've always wondered about you. Why did you become a gambler? You have a knack for the brewing business, and you seem to like the work. Surely your grandmother would have been delighted to take you under her wing."

He froze. The last thing he wanted to talk about with her was that time in his life. Letting her into his soul that deeply was the surest way to heartbreak. She would give him her soft sympathy, and he would start to care for her, and next thing he knew he'd be standing before a man of the cloth, handing his heart to her on a platter.

Not that he thought she would deliberately hurt him. He was sure she wouldn't. But he'd spent so many years keeping himself remote from anyone who might, that he wasn't about to change that now for a woman he meant to leave in the morning.

"I'm good at gambling, too, you know." He cast her a lazy grin meant to distract her. "That's how I got you into bed."

She didn't smile, her eyes huge in her face. "If you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

With a jolt, he remembered her words earlier: What have you told me about yourself? Hardly enough for me to make even a sketch of you, much less a full picture.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said tersely. "Gran wanted me to become a barrister, as befitted my station. She packed me off to Eton, and I found I preferred gambling to books. You see? All this time you've being saying I'm a scapegrace, and you're right. I don't care about anyone but myself, and I'd rather have a deck of cards in my hand than do anything useful with my time."

"That's not true," she said, her eyes soft. "I know that in your heart-"

"You don't know anything," he snapped, then cursed himself when she flinched. "I'm sorry. It's just that we have only a few hours before I leave for London, and I don't want to spend it talking about my flaws." He ran his hand down her luscious curves. "I'd much rather spend it making good on my promise."

A tiny frown furrowed her brow. "What promise?"

"That I'd have you begging before the night was over."

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a long, hot kiss designed to drive any thought from her mind but of this. When at last she looped her arms about his neck and he knew he'd won, his blood poured fierce and hot through his veins.

As he tore his lips from hers to kiss his way down to her beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she rasped, "I told you, I never beg."

"Ah, but you will, my Venus. You will."

Then he made sure that she did. This time he pleasured her with his mouth so thoroughly that he brought her to the knife's edge of release within moments. And she did beg, for him to take her, to come inside her. He was only too happy to comply.

After they lay replete the second time, their limbs entwined, he drifted off into a doze, something he had never done with a woman. But there was something so peaceful about being with her, being held by her ...

"Jarret!" a sharp voice said.

"Hmm?" He came slowly awake to find Annabel standing over him, already wearing her shift, drawers, and stockings.

"You have to help me dress. It's nearly four a.m., and I must return to the house before anyone discovers I'm gone."

"Of course." Wrestling himself from the fog of sleep, he sat up. "Give me a moment."

How long had he slept? A couple of hours at least, just enough to make him feel like a dead man.

She had to be feeling the same sluggishness, yet she cast him a look of such sympathy that something tightened in his chest. "Surely you can sleep a few hours at the inn before you leave, can't you?" Gathering up his clothes, she said, "Though you're probably eager to return to London. I suppose you can always sleep in your carriage."

As she handed him his clothes, then tidied up the room, all he could do was stare at her, so fragile-looking and small in that shift that left nothing to the imagination.

He was supposed to leave today. He would never see her again, never be bothered by Lake Ale's problems. He could go back and report to Gran that she'd been right-the company's pale ale had not been worth the risk to Plumtree Brewery.

The thought made his throat close up. "What will you tell your brother?" he clipped out. "About our meeting tomorrow ... today, I mean."

"The truth, I suppose."

"Good G.o.d."

She whirled around, her cheeks reddening. "Not about you and me. I'll just tell him you changed your mind after seeing the brewery, and that you went back to London." She gave him a sad smile. "It was never very likely that you would help us anyway, was it?"

Suddenly, Jarret didn't like the idea of being a man no one could count on, and he sure as h.e.l.l didn't like the idea of being yet another man in a long line who'd disappointed her-her father, her brother, her fiance.

And if he didn't help the Lakes, where would they end up? Would she convince her brother to sell the company? It wouldn't gain them much in this market. Even if they got some money from it, they would soon sink without the income from the brewery. Especially if her brother couldn't get his head out of a bottle.

She could ask another brewer for help, he supposed. Like that d.a.m.ned Allsopp. Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father's brewery. His blood ran cold. Not because she might want to give herself to a lecher like Allsopp, but because she might feel she had no choice. It chafed him raw to think of it.

Rising from the bed, he stalked over to the waning fire to throw the two cundums onto it and watch as they burned. Many a woman had been forced to do unconscionable things to save the people they loved. And the thought of Annabel being one of them ...

"I'm not leaving for London today." He couldn't. Drunk or no, her brother was the key to saving Lake Ale, and if Jarret left her here alone to deal with the man, he'd be no better than that d.a.m.ned Rupert, with his empty words and emptier promises.

He went to the bed and tugged on his drawers. He could feel her eyes on him.

"Why not?" she asked, clearly perplexed.

He walked over to pick up her corset, then helped her into it. "I'm going to stay here and see what I can do about this scheme of yours, of course."

She froze, then pivoted to face him. "You ... you'll speak to the East India captains? You'll contract with us for pale ale?"

The hope shimmering in her eyes fairly slew him. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes!" A brilliant smile broke over her face as she threw herself into his arms. "Yes, yes, yes!" She laughed, the dulcet tones like music, and covered his face with kisses. "But why? You don't have to. The wager-"

"I don't care about that confounded wager," he growled. "You need help, and I want to help. I can spare a few more days to see if we could make this work."

"Oh, Jarret," she whispered, "that is the nicest thing you could ever have done for me." Inexplicably, she began to cry.

Purely masculine panic rose in his chest. "Here now, dearling," he murmured as he folded her close. "I thought you'd be happy."

"I am happy," she gasped. "This is what I do when I'm happy."

"Then I'd hate to see what you do when you're sad."

"I cry then, too," she blubbered. "I cry a lot."

It was killing him. How many times had she cried over the man who'd left her and died? How often had her brother driven her to tears? It drove a fist in his gut even to imagine it.

"The only time I don't cry," she said as she attempted to get control of herself, "is when I'm angry. Then I yell."

"I remember." In an attempt to slow her tears, he added, "I never cry. Too messy."

She lifted a teary-eyed gaze to him. "Never?"

"Never."

"That's awful." She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "I can't imagine not being able to cry. I feel so much better afterward." She flashed him a watery smile. "Though I look much worse."

"You'll always look like a G.o.ddess to me." Realizing how maudlin that sounded, he turned her around so he could continue lacing up her corset ... and avoid seeing the hope in her eyes. "So where does this meeting with your brother take place?"

"Wherever you want."

"It needs to be here," Jarret said, "and I want both you and Mr. Walters present."

"Of course."

"And I want to see Lake Ale's books."

She froze. "All of them?"

"All of them. I won't sign any contract with your company until I'm sure that one of you can keep the place going long enough to get this ale on the ships to India."

A sigh escaped her. "I don't know if Hugh will agree to that."

"He'd better, if he wants me to help him."